


Showtime

by Cipher_Is_My_Waifu



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Blood Play, Body Horror, Eldrich Bill Cipher, Literal Torture Porn, M/M, Non-Consensual Alcohol Use, Non-consensual everything, Past Relationship(s), Size Difference, Tentacles, Triangle Bill Cipher, Weirdmageddon, couches made from living human skin sure can get touchy, emetophobia warning, not played for kinks though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cipher_Is_My_Waifu/pseuds/Cipher_Is_My_Waifu
Summary: The triangular demon drops Ford to the ground, floating in midair before him, and watches the shackled man spit a wet, bloody chunk of yellow to the floor before closing his stinging eye. “Oh, Stanford,” he murmurs. “That was amazing.”-----This is not pretty. Prepare yourself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> And now for the darkest shit I’ve ever written in my life! Enjoy, you filthy degenerates! Why would anyone want to read this, haha!
> 
> Also, there’s a pretty graphic vomit scene starting at the line _Humans are disgusting,_ and continuing for basically the next paragraph. I don’t know how I managed to write it; emetophobia is a  real source of anxiety for me.

Finally. _Finally_. He’s finally here! The third dimension! Bill cracks his fingers together, relishing the feeling of his knuckles bending in an entirely foreign direction. It had taken so so long, and now Weirdmageddon was finally underway. He’d never  really doubted his eventual victory, obviously; it was inevitable. Just one final obstacle stands in the way of total world domination, and if he plays his cards right, Bill is certain that he can bring his old friend along for the ride. With a flourish of his hand, Bill creates a grand piano out of thin air, a lovely dark finish on the black wood. Running a finger across the keyboard, he nods to himself. Metacarpals had been just the right choice for the ivory keys. As he drops into a sitting position in front of the instrument, a soft chair materializes in place below him.

Bill gives a few keys an experimental tap before starting to play a little tune to himself. _Showtime_.

Several minutes later, he’s offering Stanford Pines a glass of time punch, insisting he sit down and make himself comfortable. A warm fire crackles across the room, and his piano is continuing to quietly play itself in the background. The mood really couldn’t be more perfect for their reunion if he tried. “You know this couch is made from living human skin?” Bill asks as he lowers himself onto the cushion next to his human. Ford jumps, twice, in quick succession; first away from Bill as he takes his seat, and then back into him as the sofa runs a tongue up his leg. _Perfect,_ he thinks as he wraps an elongated black arm around the man’s shoulders. Ford shivers noticeably as Bill’s fingers wrap slightly into his coat. Bill tosses his drink back in one smooth movement, then motions for Ford to do the same. The eldest Pines twin wrinkles his nose subtly, moving instead to set his glass carefully on the floor.

“What do you want from me, Cipher?” he hisses, sliding back across the couch to avoid touching any part of the dream demon. He flinches as the seat’s forgotten mouth begins to lick at him once more, but relaxes very slightly after a moment’s hesitation. Bill is rather put out at the idea that Stanford would rather be pawed at by something so clearly unnerving to his delicate human sensibilities than the muse he’d once begged to never stop touching him, but he supposes he’ll get over it. Ford just needs a bit of a reminder of what they had once been.

Bill slowly blinks, swirling the liquid in his suddenly refilled glass and giving the man a half-lidded, sultry gaze. “What have I ever wanted from you, Fordsy?” he asks, leaning his topmost corner against the back of the couch. Stretching his arm out again, he slides himself over to Ford, holding his glass up to the man’s lips. “C’mon, IQ, it’s a party. Have a drink. Live a little!”

Ford jumps again as the couch’s tongue grazes across his groin, and with an incredibly quiet whimper, he presses his lips tightly together against the rim of the glass. Bill rolls his eye, tossing the drink across the room. It stops falling about halfway to the floor, rolling onto its side on some unseen surface. The purple liquid within it spills out, pooling on nothing and occasionally dripping onto the carpet.

“I have a favor to ask, Stanford,” Bill admits, reclining against the polydactyl’s side. “My buddies and I would really love to take this whole ‘Weirdmaggedon’ thing world-wide, really show your dimension a good time, but we can’t seem to escape the magical confines of this town. Any ideas what might be keeping us in?”

Ford laughs, a quick, harsh noise, and slaps at the tongue still probing around below his waist. “Amazing. You actually think I would help you to collapse Gravity Falls’ natural law of weirdness magnetism?” He shakes his head, more to himself than the pyramid sitting next to him. “You’re insane if you think I’d ever help you.”

“Aw c’mon, Fordsy!” Bill says, shifting his face to the side closest to his old lover. “I’m insane either way, and this way, you can join me for the ride. I can make you a god, Stanford Pines,” he murmurs into the side of the man’s neck. The human shivers. “You’ll be all-powerful. Greater than anything you’ve imagined.” His eye slips closed, and a long, thick tongue snakes out from between his eyelids, trailing itself from the tip of Ford’s ear down his neck, coming to a rest pressing firmly against his Adam’s apple. “Mine.”

Stanford gasps as Bill gently bites down on the junction between his neck and shoulder, and the demon quickly takes advantage of his open lips. Snatching the man’s abandoned martini glass from the floor, Bill pours the purple punch into his mouth in one quick action. Ford coughs and gags slightly as the liquid flows into the back of his throat, but Bill’s tongue quickly follows as he presses a wet, needy kiss against the man’s lips, forcing the drink down until it’s swallowed entirely. Ford pushes the creature off of him, leaping up from the still-licking couch and coughing violently. He stumbles as he reaches his feet, wobbling slightly as the punch hits his system. Bill blinks, quickly changing his mouth back to its usual shape, and leaps into the air in front of his Ford.

Watching as Stanford quickly regains his footing, pupils slightly dilated and breathing much more heavily than he was moments ago, Bill wonders if maybe this isn’t his first taste of time punch. Usually one glass is enough to knock a human straight on their weirdly-shaped ass for a good ten minutes. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around Ford’s chest and burying himself against the soft red wool of his sweater. Physical sensation is so weird; fuzz and pain and heat all blending together at any given moment. He keeps needing to take a moment to simply relish in it.

Two six-fingered hands suddenly grab his sides, pulling him away from Ford’s chest and throwing him halfway across the room. Bill catches himself, albeit upside down, and stares back at the human, amazed he can still defy him when he’s won so thoroughly. His eye squints into a nearly-closed smirk, and with a quick snap of his fingers, thick metal cuffs appear around the man’s throat and wrists, binding his arms tightly behind his back and his neck to the floor. He soars back across the room and wraps his arms tightly around the man’s torso, lifting him from the ground.

“Oh, Sixer, you have no idea how fun this is going to be!” Bill crows, holding his human tight against his closed eye. Ford sputters against the demon's eyelid, straining at the chains holding his arms back. Bill loosens his grip for a moment, opening his eye to reveal an ecstatic grin. He presses his lips firmly against Ford's own, and they feel both like a perfect fit and impossibly mismatched, all at once. Bill moans at the intimacy of it, the sheer physical _feeling_ of lips and skin and teeth and -

Sudden pain erupts across Bill's lower eyelid, Stanford is _biting_ and he can taste blood and tears and with a sudden snap, teeth are _meeting_ and his new, sensitive flesh is _ripping_ -

The triangular demon drops Ford to the ground, floating in midair before him, and watches the shackled man spit a wet, bloody chunk of yellow to the floor before closing his stinging eye. “Oh, Stanford,” he murmurs. “That was amazing.” He pokes his oversized tongue out of the corner of his eye, licking at the plasma dripping from his skin.

To his credit, Sixer seems to realize that his attack has had far from its intended effect.

The beast before him suddenly multiplies in size, towering over Ford in a manner of seconds. With a slight flourish of one hand, the eldest Pines rises into the air, the chain around his throat taut and tense, but growing in length to allow the movement Bill wants. The eldritch demon hooks a razor-sharp fingertip in the scruff of Ford’s turtleneck, slowly ripping at the threads until he’s made a trail down to the man’s waist. Bill giggles to himself as he pulls the fabric apart to peak at the pale skin hidden beneath. Judging by the look Ford gives him, the demon wonders just how off-putting the sound must be to his human ears, and that just results in even more giggling as he catches sight of four thin black lines inked into the skin near Stanford’s left nipple. If he remembers correctly, it’s just above where the human heart is located.

 _Wel̕l ͠hell̨o ̴t͘her̕e,̨ ͟ol̶d ̷f͞rie͞nd̵~_ Bill’s voice comes from everywhere at once, and he trails a knuckle across the tattoo. Three lines make up a small triangle, with the fourth playing the part of a serenely closed eye. _Di͢dn'ţ thin͞k ͠yòu͟ wo̸ul̛d'̶v̷e k̛ept̴ ̶this̛, ͝after̷ ̧aĺl̴ t̛he͘s̕e ͝year̡s. Y̵ǫu͜ rea͠l̕ļy̶ ̶d̛o st́íll ̴c͟ar̀ȩ ͝a͞b̡oưt͡ ̵me҉,̸ ͏ **d̡͝͏̛̀ó̸̧͝n͝'̴̕͜t̶̵̕͘͞ ̷y̕͢o҉̷̛͠͡ứ͘͝**?̵̢̕͜_

Stanford’s cheeks flush even more deeply than they had already been. The time punch had given his face a lovely red tint, and seeing his blood pressing so hard against his skin sets Bill on fire inside. He can barely contain the urge to… _Oh_. Bill realizes he has a fingertip digging deep into the human’s skin, beautiful red gushing from his cheek. Ford howls in agony, and Bill moans as he presses his finger against a tooth, wiggling and pushing, pushing _pushing_ until with a snapping pop, he can feel gums and a soft, hot tongue. He groans as he pulls his finger halfway back out of Ford’s new hole, slowly pressing it back in before drawing it out once more. The dream demon murmurs something unintelligible to himself, gazing hungrily at the blood flowing down the man’s chin. Ford chokes back a sob as Bill slides another finger into place alongside the first.

After what feels like it might have been an eternity or mere seconds later, Bill withdraws his fingers from the sizable wound. Blood drips rapidly down the man's face, soaking the side of his neck and seeping into his ruined sweater and coat. Ford coughs weakly, spitting the dislodged tooth to the ground with a quiet sob. His pupils are still wide and unfocused, and he’s mumbling rapidly under his breath. “Shtopshtopshtop, pleash, lemme go; I can’t takeit; pleass, no more.” He chokes on another sob, coughing a mouthful of blood to the ground. The combination of his intoxication and gapped teeth makes his words slur and smash together, a symphony of pain and fear. Bill loves it.

The demon turns his attention back to the man’s torso, gazing at and trailing his fingers across the multitude of scars littered along his chest and stomach. Sprouting another pair of arms from his back, Bill tears at the sleeves of his clothing, nearly desperate to see as much skin as possible, and he almost laughs when he sees just how much ink has been permanently branded into his flesh. He rubs a thumb against a particularly goofy-looking purple star on his bicep. _An̕ ҉a̡l͢ĺ-̀s̵tar, ̴huh͏?_ he chuckles, sliding a tongue from a nothing-space opened below his eye and into the human’s mouth. The coppery taste of blood rushes his senses, and he groans loudly, splitting a tendril off to press through the hole in Ford’s cheek.

Stanford gags at the in-and-out motion of Bill’s tongue as he splits the organ into a multitude of tentacle-like appendages. One slides painfully up the back of his throat, pushing through his nasopharynx and sliding out his left nostril. In this form, pressed this close to his human, Bill can feel all the emotions and pain flowing from Ford’s fevered mind, and they’re simply delicious. A bit metallic and muted, no thanks to that plate in his skull, but it blends with the taste of blood on his tongue, and is ultimately barely noticeable.

Bill digs the nails from three hands into Stanford’s hips, another two arms ripping at the fabric of his pants. He’s almost desperate to see the skin underneath that he’s been denied for so many years now, and the cloth falls in shreds to the floor below. A plethora of eyes snap open across his faces at the sight of the man’s cock hanging limply towards the ground, and he lifts Ford higher, the man choking slightly at the pull against his chained and full throat. He heaves again at the appendage pressing against the back of his throat, bile running down his chin and burning against Bill’s tongue. _Humans are disgusting,_ Bill thinks distantly to himself, twisting two of his long, flat tongues around the human’s uvula and giving a firm tug.

Ford makes a choking noise, and a hot rush of vomit flows across Bill’s tongues and spills onto the man’s chest, dripping from his lips and the still-bleeding hole in his cheek. The human convulses, thrashing against the demon’s hold, and Bill forces his tongues farther down his twitching esophagus. Stanford gags again, releasing another wave of sick onto himself and the floor. The taste is awful, and after a moment of hesitation, Bill decides it’s enough to withdraw his tongues from the man’s mouth. He pulls them back into the hole in his front, wiping the stomach acid off and dissipating it into the nothingness within his form.

Bill slides his newly-clean tongues back out, melded into one horrifyingly large organ, and he wraps it firmly around Stanford’s body. It writhes against his flesh, licking up blood, vomit, sweat, and threads of fabric, and Bill savors the taste. It's all so awful and amazing, all at once. He really can't get enough of the sensations this dimension has to offer, and he reaches one large, pitch black hand down to touch the man's genitals.

A gentle squeeze of Ford's cock results in a pained, rushed gasp, and the human resumes his violent thrashing. The time punch seems to leave his system all at once, leaving him suddenly paled and clammy with sweat. Bill begins to carefully pump the organ in his grasp, running the tip of his still-clenched tongue against the nape of Ford's neck. The man chokes back another gasp as his member slowly hardens; his body responding to memories of their time together in the Mindscape so many years past. _I͝ rea͏lly̶ m͢i̧sse̴d ͟thi̷s͘,̷ ͠Foŕd̸sy,_ Bill admits in the closest to a reassuring tone he can manage. It really isn't what any human would call at all calming, but Bill can't bring himself to care much.

“Ngh!” Stanford bites hard on his lip, twisting in a painfully futile attempt to pull out of the demon's grasp. Bill runs the tip of his tongue along his ear, giving the now fully-erect cock a tight squeeze as he twists his hand rapidly up and down. A thought occurs to Bill as he realises Ford doesn't seem likely to last long at this rate, and with a snap of his fifth arm's fingers, a ring of cool blue fire appears around the soft sack of skin hanging below the man's engorged flesh, tightening as Bill pumps up and down. Ford gasps at the sensation, tears springing to his eyes. He's panting heavily now, and a sob escapes his throat as his testes throb with imminent release. “Ah...hah...sh-stop...please, Bill...no mo-oore!” he moans, writhing in the demon's gasp. Blood still runs down his chin, and Bill cocks a finger in the liquid’s direction. A large splash of the life-giving fluid flies into the air, flowing down to lubricate the demonic handjob.

Stanford moans brokenly at the wetness, bucking his hips up into Bill's grip. His cock twitches, once, twice, and then the flaming ring flares and tightens, suddenly burning hot. The man screams as blisters erupt around the base of his cock and scrotum, flesh sizzling and producing a smell not unlike those barbecues humans are always so fond of. The flames quickly cool again, but remain just as tight around him. The pressure prevents him from going soft from the pain, and Bill continues jerking his hand up and down, down and up, cackling deeply all the while.

Yet another arm bursts from inside of Bill, twisting his fingers together until they seem to form one single, long, tapered limb. He presses it into Stanford’s mouth, soaking it in spit, blood and bile. Bill simply can’t get enough of the pain and misery pouring out of his human, and he unwraps his tongue from the man’s prone form, licking hungrily at the tears leaking from behind his cracked glasses. His arm thrusts in and out past Ford’s lips, and the man gags again, but doesn’t seem to have anything left to force out of his stomach. _Good,_ Bill thinks to himself. That was one aspect of humans he could do without having to deal with again. He withdraws the limb from the man’s mouth, pressing a newly-generated pair of lips against Ford’s own bloody ones. A much smaller tongue slithers into the polydactyl’s mouth, licking his teeth and probing at the hole in his cheek, and to Bill's absolute delight, Stanford’s breaking mind tells him to reciprocate the action as best he can manage.

Bill’s wet, bloody arm slides down to caress the curve of Stanford’s ass, slipping between the firm cheeks and poking at his puckered pink hole. Ford gasps around their clashing tongues, pulling his own back away from where it had been tangling with Bill’s and frantically shaking his head, but the demon continues his exploration of the man’s lower body. He’s wanted to be able to physically feel this human since he first peered into his thoughts and realized the things Stanford wanted to do with him over three decades prior, and he certainly won’t take no for an answer now. His fist clenches tightly around Ford’s cock, now pistoning along it at an inhuman speed. Ford is moaning openly now as Bill twists the tip of his arm against his entrance, and as he pushes it in with a wet pop, the man nearly cums for a second time, howling with pain as the flames around his member flare once again.

The demon smirks inwardly as he begins thrusting in and out of the man’s anus, giving him only a brief moment of respite before starting to move. Stanford lets out a choked noise around the organ filling his mouth, and Bill isn’t entirely sure whether he’s attempting to scream or to moan. He pulls his tongue out, running it across the man’s undamaged cheek and trailing it down the front of his neck. Ford cries out as the tip of Bill’s limb brushes against a tight bundle of nerves, his tongue simultaneously caressing the dip of his throat. The human moans through another sob as Bill pumps his cock, slamming his arm deep inside. The dream demon makes sure each thrust targets his prostate now that he's found it, and as he feels the cock in his grasp again start to twitch, Bill snaps two fingers on another arm. The ring of blue fire flares briefly as it loosens, before dissipating entirely, and Bill rubs his thumb across the head of Ford’s member. With a quick twist of the arm inside of Stanford, he presses the tip of his joined fingers directly against the man’s prostate and rubs.

Stanford screams as he finally finds his release, thick ropes of hot white cum flooding across Bill’s hand and splattering against his own chest. The pyramid continues to rub against Ford’s insides, milking every drop he can from his cock. Ford is breathing heavily as Bill still pumps his softening member, shaking his head and mumbling to himself. The demon chuckles, swiping another hand through the mess on his fingers and lifting it up to examine the fluid more closely, focusing all of the multitude of eyes across his form on it. It’s thick and sticky, and warm against what he could call his skin. He trails one of his tongues across his fingertips, licking curiously at it. Such a weird thing for humans to do, and so incredibly disgusting. It’s fantastic and awful, and Bill wants to make it happen again, over and over.

A quiet, pained whimper draws Bill’s attention back to Ford’s face. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, a bright flush across his nose and the tips of his ears. Bill looks back down at his still-moving arms, and realizes Stanford’s cock is trying and not quite failing to go limp. _N̴eed a ͢b͟reat͟her̢, ̀Si͡xer̴?͢_ he asks, withdrawing his arm from the man’s bruised and probably bleeding anus. He simultaneously releases his grip on Ford’s cock, watching as it twitches a few times as it drops back into the hold of gravity. Turning the gaze of his main eye (and several smaller ones) back to the man’s face, he watches as Ford slowly closes his eyes and takes several shaky breaths. After a long moment, the human slowly blinks his eyes open, and looks to Bill with an almost thankful gaze. “...You shtopped,” he murmurs with a heavy breath.

 _'C͟ou͏r̢s̴e I ҉d̶ìḑ, ͝ol҉ḑ ͟pa͟l̵!҉ ͏I͏ kn̸ow ͟yo̕u ̢huma̢n͢s h͢a͠v͠e ͏i͠s̕sues w͟i̢t͢h ̀t͝hi͡ngs l͝ike͝ **̶o̕͞͠v̵̡͞e̷̢r̀́s̴͟t͏i͘͏̕m̷u̵̶l̀͘͝ą̴̶t̷̨̕įo͢n** , a̵ft҉er̨ ͢a҉l̷l!_ Bill echoes loudly, dropping the man to the ground. Ford flinches as he falls, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting to hit the floor, but at the last moment, Bill manifests his skin-couch below him, and the man has a relatively soft, if somewhat grabby, landing. Ford slowly opens his eyes, not quite at the same time, and he wobbles slightly before falling onto his side. His eyes sink closed again, and he lays curiously still for several long moments. Bill watches him for some time before realizing what the most likely culprit is for this odd behavior. _Oh,͠ ͡I͝ ̷ge͠t it, S͞i͡x͠er.͠ Yo̵u'҉v͝e͝ ͢pŗob̴ably l͡ǫs̶t̵ ̢a̧ si̸gņif̨i҉ca̡n͡t͘ am̕o͞unt ͠o̢f ҉b͜lo̴o͝d ͟for a ̢h̶u̵m͠a̸n͏,͢ huh͢? L͝em̸me ҉ **h̴̕͠è͘ĺ̕͝p̴͏** ͘y̶o̸u͢ ̀wit̶h ́tha̷t._ The demon snaps his fingers again, and the torn skin of Stanford’s cheek begins stitching itself closed. He leaves the hole intact, though; it’s just too tempting to be able to see lovely flashes of white and pink without having to even make Ford open his mouth.

He gives Stanford a moment to compose himself, slowly shrinking to his regular size, but maintaining the multitude of limbs, eyes and mouths that he's gained throughout the evening. As he decreases in height, he lowers himself onto the couch next to the man, and with a snap of his fingers, a new round of punch appears, one glass held delicately in the only arm protruding from his left face, the other floating inches from Ford's lips in midair. With a flourish, Bill twirls the glass in his fingers before splashing it into his main eye, blinking a mouth into its place for the briefest of moments. Even with a dozen-odd mouths scattered elsewhere across himself, old habits die hard.

Ford stares silently at the glass in front of him, his lips firmly shut. Bill can see them quiver slightly. It's clearly taking him some significant effort, likely due to the pain from his recently-healed cheek. Bill twirls his glass to refill it, wrapping an enlongating arm around the prone man's shoulders. “C’mon, Sixer, lighten up already! This is supposed to be a party.” The demon heaves Ford back into a sitting position, and faintly trails a tongue across his left collarbone. The man twitches, quivering slightly at the touch, and takes the floating stemware in one hand. He stares at it for a long, silent moment before glancing at Bill, and placing the rim against his lips. He doesn’t open his mouth, though; just sits it there for what feels like an eternity, and slowly, Bill reaches another arm out, placing two fingers against the base of the cup. He tips it up, carefully, gently. The man presses his eyes closed, an unreadable mix of emotions crossing his face.

Stanford drinks, and Bill laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> So. That was, uh. That was sure something, huh? If you made it this far, good job.


End file.
